


Harder Better Faster Stronger

by GoodFrith



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Adventure & Romance, Alternate Universe - Robots & Androids, Character's Name Spelled as Viktor, Existential Crisis, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Phichit Chulanont Is a Good Friend, Protective Katsuki Yuuri, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-27
Updated: 2018-11-27
Packaged: 2019-09-01 13:03:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16765699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoodFrith/pseuds/GoodFrith
Summary: In the process of being swept off his feet by his idol, Yuuri accidentally uncovers something about him that certain people want kept secret, even from the man himself...Viktor Nikiforov, the living legend of figure skating, is an android





	Harder Better Faster Stronger

**Author's Note:**

> Title and content inspired by the funky robots of Daft Punk

The dribbling rain made Phichit feel a little less ridiculous for having his hood pulled down nearly over his fringe. The city’s fluorescence reflected in the puddles at least gave the scene an edgy editorial sort of look. He’d admit to himself that the hood was overkill. He was after all, lurking in the back entrance to his own apartment building. Still, there had been something about Yuuri’s tone when he had called, asking him to meet in the alley out back.

A little municipal electric car pulled up in front of where he was waiting, its tinted windows revealing nothing. The engine had hardly shut off when Yuuri sprung out of the driver seat, not even bothering to shut the door. His mouth said worried, which honestly wasn't all that unnatural for him. The determined expression he wore behind his glasses however, gave Phichit pause. 

He took a step out into the rain, joining Yuuri at the open trunk of the car. It wasn't built to carry much but it certainly wasn’t built to fit the body that looked to be stuffed inside it. 

“Yuuri,” he started, unsure what he was looking at. “When I said we were the “bury a body” kind of friends, I didn’t think you were actually going to call in the favour-”

The end of the sentence nearly fell out of his mouth as it quickly became clear that whatever crazy situation he thought he’d just stepped into, it was actually much much bigger.

A man’s silver haired head rolled against Yuuri’s shoulder as he pulled him gently out of the trunk. Phichit, almost on instinct, went to help, grabbing the pair of very familiar ankles. In fact, every aspect of this man was familiar because he’d spent the last three years living with Yuuri. A man whose room contained no less than five pictures of Viktor Nikiforov at any one time. 

Before Phichit could even begin to wonder if his sweet, anxious roommate had turned stalker without him noticing, a more pressing concern occurred to him. As they lifted Nikiforov’s unresponsive body up the back flight of stairs to their apartment in some morbid version of the Friends couch scene, Phichit paused to voice his question. 

“Yuuri. Is he… still alive?” 

It was hard to judge, but the way Yuuri glanced at him for a brief moment, swallowing hard, didn’t bode well. At that moment Phichit figured if he had already made an accessory of himself, he might as well finish carrying Nikiforov up the stairs.

If not for all the conditioning Celestino put them through on the regular, there was no way they would have reached their apartment. Between all the stairs and the heft of a six foot athlete in his prime, it was a full body workout. Phichit was panting as he unlocked the door and he watched warily as Yuuri dragged his idol across the carpet and laid him gently on the couch, taking the time to fix his fringe. Any judgements he had on _that_ gesture would be reserved until Yuuri gave him some kind of explanation. 

“Yuuri,” he tried again, crossing his arms. “You didn’t answer my question.” With Nikiforov lying there boneless on the couch, it was getting harder to give him the benefit of the doubt. 

Yuuri tore his eyes away from his idol and looked at him, harried. “I will. I promise. He’s, first I just- I need to return that car. I sort of hijacked it.” 

Phichit waved him on and Yuuri bustled off down the stairs again. He leaned against the closed door with a sigh, unable to stop himself from staring at the man on his couch. Even under normal circumstances, Russia’s living legend would have been totally out of place in their grotty, yellow, student apartment with it’s faintly green kitchenette. These were by no means normal circumstances and his lifeless form looked even more out of place lying on the King and the Skater blanket draped over the couch. Phichit dipped his hand into his pocket out of habit, then pulled out his phone and switched it off. They didn't need any digital ears listening in. He had done a total software overhaul on it a few years ago but there was nothing like a possible corpse in your sitting room to make you doubt everything you previously trusted. 

By the time Yuuri returned, Phichit had ascertained three things about Nikiforov he felt were important: he was not breathing, he had no heartbeat and he was totally cold. He had tried not to jump to any conclusions but Yuuri's body language wasn't doing either of them any favours. Although he'd seen Yuuri in the grips of anxiety countless times, he wondered how similar that could look to the knowledge you’d killed the man you’d been obsessed with for possibly your entire life. 

“I hope you have something really really good to explain what’s going on here because he’s full on dead Yuuri,” he said.

What little flush there had been in Yuuri’s cheeks from _stealing a car and moving a body,_ drained quickly. “I-I panicked,” he said. “They were going to- I didn’t know what they were going to do and I couldn’t let it happen… not- not when it could be my fault.”

In a burst of anxious energy he brushed past Phichit to stand staring down at Viktor’s pink sock covered feet hanging off couch. His hands shook where they were fisted at his sides. “I didn’t kill him Phichit,” Yuuri’s voice wavered but managed to stay steady as he continued. “I could never.”

Phichit shuffled over to stand next to his best friend and put a gentle hand on Yuuri’s arm. He didn’t flinch, so he gave it a gentle squeeze. “OK. I believe you when you say you didn’t kill him but, that doesn’t change the fact that he’s dead on our couch.” 

Yuuri turned his head to look at him, bottom lip between his teeth. He released it and shook his head. “He’s not, dead.” 

“Yuuri-”

“Please Phichit. Just….” He sighed and then took a deep fortifying breath. “Check the back of his neck.”

“What?”

Yuuri stared him down which was so unusual that Phichit complied, albeit gingerly. He gripped Nikiforov by the shoulders and tilted him forward to reveal the back of his neck. When he saw it, he swore, in Thai first and then in English when once didn’t feel like enough. A patch of pale white skin had been peeled back to reveal a port built into Nikiforov’s neck. Phichit recognized it from introduction to advanced software: a UN sanctioned decommissioning circuit, colloquially known as a killswitch. It was activated. 

He glanced up at Yuuri, whose expression mirrored exactly the feeling of worry and confusion he felt. His hope that Yuuri was about to reveal that this was a highly elaborate prank finally faded.

Viktor Nikiforov, world champion figure skater and Russia's most beloved athlete, was a robot. 

.

**Author's Note:**

> Please consider leaving a kudos or a comment if you enjoyed this, or if youd like an update in a timely manner...☆ 
> 
> Also looking for a beta for this and future projects, if you would be interested please hmu!


End file.
